Echoes
by planet p
Summary: Post of an old story! AU; Broots attends a funeral, and surprises await. Broots/Brigitte
1. Chapter 1

Title: ECHOES

Author: planet p

Disclaimer: I don't own 'the Pretender' or any of its characters.

Written: 10-September-2006

* * *

1.

It was coming on dusk now. Twilight danced contortedly upon the asphalt, shadows flickering just out of reach. Sunshine melted like lemon drops, falling from the edge of the Earth. Bitterness crept into the world and curled up beneath the window cill.

Ezra sat alone, the television turned right down. Meaningless images washed over the scruffy gnarled carpet, faltering almost as if they might trip, splashing the walls in a multitude of endless colour. Lips spoke words without comprehension; eyes glittered with no soul, hungry with greed, heavy with grief and youthful innocence.

A laden sigh announced the premise of viewing. Ezra snatched the remote from the cushion beside him. A tiny red button terminated the tirade of pretty colours. The plastic box halfway across the darkened room gave a defeated sigh and fell into darkness, creaking one last breath.

The man let his arm flop onto the cushion on which he was sitting, remote still clutched limply between his fingers. Hollow brown eyes gazed into the blank screen as though dazed.

His mind faded in and out of awareness.

* * *

The fantastic four were still chasing Jarod. Jarod was still running.

He was married now. Ezra remembered seeing half a dozen glossy photographs upon Parker's desk one uneventful morning. Green grass, tartan picnic rug, 'skanky redhead'; arms wrapped around a pretty waist. Parker didn't look up at the interruption. Ezra felt a twinge of panic seeing her bent over the bin like that. The sound of flint sobered him up. He knew where the rest of the photos had gone.

Five years later and no one was getting any younger, but there was a little angel called Connie, two or three, all ginger locks and floral scrunchies.

Parker had taken up sessions with Sydney, hoping for enlightenment into her Inner Sense. Ezra was hustled out of the office by the upper arm and chucked onto an unsuspecting office girl. Apologies aside, the girl made a point to avoid that corridor in future.

Afternoons were spent skipping out on paperwork to visit Reagan, now five years old. The little prince and the lonely princess playing ball in one of the open-air courtyards.

Debbie was gone too. She had left for college not so many months ago. She was staying with her boyfriend. Ezra liked to think she was busy and that was why she never rang. He knew that if she _was_ busy with anything it would not be study.

He hadn't realised just how dead-end his life was, until the point when he woke up one morning and found only his reflection for company. None of those smelly soaps in the bathroom cabinet anymore; the orange juice bottle shut, sitting perfectly in the stark white door, snug as a bug in a rug.

* * *

The walls chided him and laughed. Perhaps he was too old for sulking. It hardly seemed to matter anymore.

Computers were just machines. Programs were simply numbers and formulae. The Earth went on turning.

* * *

The man ran a hand through his close cropped hair. The room felt empty and cold. Taking in a harsh breath, he stood and left.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The phone call was unexpected, after so long. The announcement merely reminded him of all those years passed.

* * *

The funeral was bleak. The blue sky was clouded with grey, threatening cats and dogs. People cried and sniffed; others simply stood, arms across their chest's determinately, all clad in black.

Ezra tried to remember. He came up blank. Just another formality. Friends was so far from the truth, but he was in no mood to contest the clergyman. High school was done and gone. He liked to think he was older now. He certainly looked it.

He simply gazed at the trodden earth and reminded himself that whatever else Toby had been – tormentor or friend – he had once been a living, feeling being with so much life. And now he was not.

Passing seemed such a final thing, inconsolable in its own right. No more screaming, no more shouting, no more tears. All the pain gone now. And a box in the ground in a field of stones inscribed with perfect little words and numbers. A life was no more and now this was the label the world was left with.

Graveyard full of sorry stories, all those left behind. The clouds didn't matter because the Earth still turned.

* * *

The motel bred discontent in his heart like a tumour.

All of those pretty words. All of those consoling looks. But now Toby was dead and he had hated him till the very end. Should he get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness? Should he deny that he hated the boy who had made his teenage years a living Hell? Should he lie in the face of all that made him human, all for the sake of salvation, acceptance?

He felt selfish and horrible, but he could not help being what he was, feeling what he felt. He didn't understand this feeling. Insecurity multiplied like shadows. He left his laptop on the covers and took the car for a spin, see if he couldn't clear his head.

* * *

The shop felt warm and stuffy, heat skimming from the oil cookers and lifting up into the air in wisps.

For a Thursday six-something pm, there were surprisingly few customers.

Ezra stood leant against the wall opposite the counter, gazing at a framed picture of some tropical island most people only ever dreamed of. Of course, there was always television. He sighed, pondering the bubbling frothing oil.

The sound of heels on linoleum instinctively drew his attention. Something about the walk so familiar yet unattainable, grasping at straws, with the light burnt out.

Lipstick red platforms. Open-toed. The same lipstick red painted onto tiny toenails. A silver ring on the right foot.

Ezra allowed his eyes to travel up from the floor. Dimly, he registered that the little bell above the door had finally given up tinkling.

Tiny white and indigo checkered shorts, all tight like hot pants. A loose lime green tee with ruffles on the cuffs.

Lime grey eyes smiled warmly, glimmering like liquid mercury. The redhead bounded up to the laminex counter and leant her weight on her arms as she surveyed the menu, tapping her shoe absently as she waited for the attendant to return from out back.

* * *

The redhead grinned, biting a pinch of her bottom lip. The young woman taking orders was held up on the phone.

* * *

The redhead sighed and turned away from the counter, bored, twirling a finger in her hair for lack of much else to do. Her pretty silvery eyes surveyed Ezra with interest. She tossed her chin his way. "Hey?" Honey?" Her heels clacked again. She brushed a hand in front of his eyes, sweeping a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

Ezra started, apologetic. "Oh, excuse me, I didn't realise… you were… t-talk-ing to _me_?" He blushed, silently scolding himself. _Pull it together man!_

The redhead flashed a pretty smile. "No, thaaaat's quite alright!" She offered her hand. Fingernails and lips painted that same red. "Marion."

Ezra smiled politely, somewhat hesitant. Women were usually the last to take an interest in conversation with him. The response was unexpected. He felt foolish now. His eyes fell on her face as he composed himself. Now that she was closer, she seemed horribly familiar, and that was not a good thing. He almost ran then and there. He certainly would have taken a fair few steps backward, had he anywhere to go. He pinched his thigh, hard. "Ooou!"

Marion snorted and shot him a funny look.

Ezra smiled weakly, his heart sinking. "Dazzled!" he lied, extending his own hand.

Marion giggled. "Oh, that's so sweet."

Ezra restrained himself from wincing at the coo in her voice. It still didn't seem possible. Parker herself had seen her die, right before her eyes. "Ezra."

Marion giggled for the second time. "Cute."

* * *

Ezra sighed and fell into his seat, slamming the car door after him, hot chips sitting in his lap. He had escaped in one piece. He crossed himself and pulled his seatbelt on. The fish-and-chip shop business card Marion had written her number on the back of was chucked on the dash and disregarded after that.

He started up the car and put it in gear. His troubles had just got a whole lot worse. He wondered if this was his punishment for his impure heart.

* * *

Hot chips lay open in their paper upon the kitchen table. Ezra poured himself a coca-cola in one of the brown-tinted glasses so typical of motels these days. The phone stared back at him from the faded mustard yellow wall.

The glass clunked loudly upon the wooden table, floral tablecloth aside. The chips were getting cold.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

It was eating him up inside. He knew he should have called Parker well over five hours ago, yet he was too afraid to call her home and have her yell at him for waking her. What's more, he didn't _want_ to wake her in the middle of the night.

* * *

There was always the morning, he told himself. But even he admitted, he never had been one for lying. He had to be – what? – the worst liar in the history of the wide world.

In his head, he imagined all the ways she could kill him. He almost expected her to come bursting in, having done away with the door, gun in hand.

She always _could_ pick his every little lie. _Dead man. Bzzz. Correct._

* * *

He took the scotch with him and headed for the car. There was no use in sticking around anyhow. The funeral was over. This was not something to be discussed over the phone. The Centre was always listening, besides. He couldn't risk them ever finding out he knew their dirty little secret.

Suddenly, doubts began to surface in his mind. If the wicked witch was alive, then what of Parker's mother? He shook his head. _No, they were two completely different circumstances._

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease, of impending doom. He had to go there and beg for forgiveness. On hands and knees, if need be.

* * *

The phone rang five times before it was picked up. Ezra took a swill of scotch and cleared his throat huskily. "You said if I ever needed to talk I should ring you," he began.

"Brrrng-brrrng. It's all of… 3.17 am," Marion teased sleepily.

"I rung."

"You did."

* * *

Marion sipped her coke absently, gazing intently into Ezra's eyes.

Seeing her there across from him, he honestly couldn't fathom why he had rung her at all. She gave him the creeps.

"I, um… You, um… I hope I didn't w-wake you… or anything?"

Marion shook her head, smiling. "Oh no. I was watching telly. 'M afraid, I don't sleep so well without my pills. Sleeping pills. But my subscription's run out," she shrugged, "so what can ya do? Got an appointment for Tuesd'y, but until then…" she fell short. A huge smirk came across her face. "You some sort of pest exterminator?"

Ezra blinked. Recovering, he shook his head. "No van."

Marion smacked the front of her head, cackling. "Dah!" She rolled her eyes as though she thought herself extremely silly.

"Technician," Ezra replied blankly.

Marion thumped the table loudly, her eyes widening. "But – of course! Cars? Cool!"

"No, actually, I work with computers."

Marion cackled at her stupidity. "I'm sorry."

Ezra appeared disturbed. "That's alright," he replied in a worried voice.

"So, what's a girl gotta do to get a drink round 'ere?"

* * *

Marion thumped her hand on the table, choking on her laughter.

Ezra concluded that she was not one to hold her liquor well. Nobody found his jokes funny. Debbie had even given up laughing just to see him smile. "Do you know, the first time I saw you in the fish-and-chip place…" he fell short, unsure how to word himself.

Marion caught her breath and attempted a serious expression.

"They said you'd died," he finished.

Marion clapped a hand to her mouth, muffling her laughter. "I'm still here," she chimed, standing unsteadily and turning on the spot. Ezra got to his feet also. Marion squealed and fell sideways. Ezra moved around the table to help her to her feet. "I don't understand."

"Look, Brigitte-"

Marion's eyes widened. "Oh my God! Bridie's dead? She's dead?"

Ezra grabbed for her hands to calm her. She pushed him away from her roughly and slid down the wall, head in her knees.

"My sister's dead?"

Ezra looked to his shoes. "I'm sorry," he told her quietly. "Were you very close?"

Marion sobbed into her knees. "NO! I hate – hated – the bitch! This is so typical of her! How could she do this to me?"

* * *

Ezra turned away from the open fridge, cold spilling out onto his shoes, sweeping across the floor like a storm coming on. "Apple pie?" he asked. The kitchen table was empty. He frowned.

Marion stepped into his line of vision, gazing into the near empty fridge. She raised her eyebrows. "Pie's cool."

Ezra sighed heavily. "Sorry about there not being any cream."

Marion smirked. "Guess that's a good thing, sillies, won't have to run that extra block."

Ezra shook his head, uncomprehending. "Run?"

"Hips," Marion explained. "Fat hips are soooo grosssss!" He could almost predict it now. Right on cue, Marion burst into laughter.

* * *

Ezra turned to pass her a fork. Marion was eating pie with her fingers. His face fell. He wondered that he was so disappointed. No, unnerved.

He took up opposite her, the kitchen chair scraping horribly. "You were sisters?" he inquired carefully.

Marion looked up from her pie. "This pie's good," she blustered through a mouthful of apple and pastry.

Ezra nodded. _Well, there was certainly no love lost there!_

"Yeah, so far as blood goes," Marion replied. "Sisters… Twins…" She chewed her pie thoughtfully for a moment. "She was older though."

"I really am sorr-"

"Don't be," Marion cut him off. "She deserved whatever she got. Stupid bloody cow."

Ezra only stared.

"She was always _the star_," Marion went on. "It was always _Bridie-this, Bridie-that_. None of the boys even looked at me twice. Oh no, _but Bridie. _God, it was pathetic. And I was so fucking stupid. Wanted to be her fucking clone for all the good it did me. She never gave a stuff."

She looked up suddenly, catching Ezra's eyes. He shifted uncomfortably, forcing himself to hold her gaze.

"Tell me how it happened? _Did she suffer terribly?_"

"She- I don't really know. I just heard that she died."

* * *

Marion moved around the table and smeared pie on his cheek, evil grin plastered all over her pretty face. She shoved him in the arm, disappointed. "Food fight!"

Ezra didn't shift his gaze from her own, shocked.

Marion put on a sad face, sitting down on his lap and lifting her shirt to wipe the pie from his face. "All better now, baby?"

He wanted to do something, anything, but all he could do was stare stupidly. He felt a hot blush creep up into his cheeks.

Marion shifted in his lap, only increasing his feeling of discomfort. A moment later her shirt was on the floor.

* * *

Marion carefully lifted her head from his chest, careful not to wake him.

* * *

Ezra woke some fifteen minutes later. Dawn was just beginning to break. The room was covered in bitter twilight. His eyes fell on the various items scattered across the floor. Lastly, they came to rest on the woman by the window, typing commands into his laptop at an incredible speed, muttering to herself as though she didn't know she was doing it.

"What the bloody Hell do you think you're doing?"

Marion started and spun around. She was caught. There was no use in denying it now.

"GET OUT!"

Marion's smile faded momentarily. She hitched it back. "You want me to go?" she asked, finally.

Ezra sighed. "Yeeeesssss."

Marion nodded. "Okay. Fine. I'm gone." She grabbed her coat from the back of the seat and paused. "I haven't got anything on me now, but I'll pay you back for the coke and pie later."

Ezra shook his head, pulling the door open. "Just go."

Marion didn't look back.

He slammed the door, giving it a good kick for good measure.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Ezra found them in the personnel dining hall. Parker was sipping her steaming coffee, watching as Reagan blew bubbles in his green milkshake, a tiny smile evident in the corners of her mouth. Sam, Parker's Sweeper, sat opposite his boss, reading the paper. Sydney was talking with Parker. Parker nodded every now and then, but Ezra bet, that if Sydney were to ask her to recall their conversation, she would come at a loss.

Reagan's baby blues had long since turned stormy grey, his hair auburn tending on ginger.

"Oi, Pip?"

Reagan looked up from his milkshake, innocence itself. "Yes?"

Parker frowned crossly. "No more bubbles, 'ey."

The little boy slouched. "But bubbles are fun."

Parker smiled now. "This is the Centre. Fun, fun, fun! No bubbles needed."

Reagan rolled his eyes, pouting sadly. "I want bubbles," he whined.

The older woman sighed. "You may, but Sam doesn't, and your bubbles are on the loose." She nodded to the trail of bubbles easing down the side of the frosted glass and slinking sideways towards Sam.

Reagan shrugged. "Bubbles just wanna be free."

The brunette shot him a sharp look. "Bubbles just _want to_ be free! Them and the rest of the planet Earth. Join the club, buddy!"

Reagan huffed, folding his arms across his chest crossly, his eyes darkened into a scowl.

"Reagan!" Parker howled, watching as the glass was knocked over and milk ran gratefully to the edge of the table and spilled all over Sam.

Sam yowled and jumped up, eyes on the little boy in a questioning manner.

The child in question pouted. "Ooops?"

* * *

Ezra went to fetch a dishcloth. Upon his return, he found that Sam had left. Sydney was gazing across the room, trying not to smile quite so much. Parker and her little friend were cackling. Parker ruffled the boy's hair before taking the cloth offered.

* * *

Marion gazed out the window of the bus, oblivious to the blur of civilisation rushing by. Her mind was on other things. Blue Cove awaited.

* * *

"Miss Parker?"

Parker started and grabbed for her jacket. "We up? We going? We got a lead on the labrat?"

Ezra shook his head sadly.

Parker scowled. "Bloody Hell, Broots!" she scowled, settling back into her chair.

Ezra took a tentative step into the room.

"What the bleeding Hell are you still doing here?"

"I wanted to t-talk," Ezra replied in a small voice.

The tall brunette scowled once more. "Well, Einstein, you just did! Capuche? Now _I'm_ talking to _you_. Get the Hell out of my office!"

Ezra swallowed. "It's about-" Parker stood and made across the room, fully prepared to manhandle him from her office if need be. "-Brigitte," he finished.

Parker stopped dead. Ezra sighed, seeing no gun pointed at his head. "What?" the woman all but hollered.

Ezra stepped back. "Brigitte," he repeated in a small voice, staring at his shoes rather than meet her bright blue eyes.

Parker growled and seized the front of his clothes. "What about her?" she demanded, pinning her techie up against the wall beside the filing cabinet.

"Y-yesterday I came back from…" Parker nodded encouragingly, her eyes overlarge. "I-I had-d to go to a funeral on the weekend. An old school fr- an old acquaintance-"

Parker scowled. "Skip the intro, Mario!"

"I met Brigitte's sister," he blurted.

Parker snorted, smacking the back of his head into the wall. "You… bloody… SUCKER!"

Ezra winced.

She pulled out her gun and aimed it on his head. Parker took a step back as though she didn't want to bloody her expensive shirt when she splattered the techie's grey matter all over her office wall. She released the safety, squeezing the trigger. Ezra squeezed his eyes shut tight. "Bang! You're dead!"

Ezra opened his eyes slowly, realising he had been had.

Parker slammed her fist into the wall beside him. He jumped and edged away from her, but Parker hadn't finished with him. She grabbed him by the front of his clothes once more, yanking him over till they stood inches apart. "Do you realise what you've just done? DO? YOU?" She shook her head, laughing. "Fucking Hell!"

"Bu-"

Parker held a hand up. "Spare me, Tom Dooley! You're a dead boy!"

"But I swear, she looks just like her!"

Parker froze, ceasing her endless pacing. "What?"

"They're twins, she said."

"Who said?" Parker shot in exasperation.

"Marion."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Marion stared up at the building on the hill. Well it sure gave her the creeps, just looking at it. So, this was where Ezra worked? She sighed. She hated hills.

* * *

She pulled out her laptop and ran a few formulas through the system, connecting a few technical looking devices to the central gates. If she played her cards right she wouldn't get caught. She had thought about just walking away, thought about it a lot, but that was no longer an option. She had to know. It was all she had left now.

* * *

She managed to get through the gates without detection. Now came the hard part. _Think cowboys and Indians_, she told herself. _But Running Bear and Little White Dove drowned in the river. Look, girlfriend, you see any rivers?_ She shook her head. She had to keep it together. She had come here for a reason. Now, all that was left was to determine that reason and finish the original operation.

* * *

She crossed her fingers. She had done away with her blonde wig and her red hair was done in two low pigtails.

She was almost upon the building when a deafening buzz began in her head. Images flashed across her unseeing eyes.

Marion fell down on her knees and was sick in the bushes.

* * *

She leant against the wall shivering, knees drawn up to her chest; every now and again her body gave her involuntarily twitch.

She couldn't go in there. She wouldn't go in there. She could barely move. 'Baby sister?' Her eyes grew wide at the voice in her head. Instinctively, she found herself trusting the voice.

"What?" she whispered inaudibly low.

'Baby sister came back.'

Marion moaned, a fresh wave of sickness churning her stomach.

'Baby sister control. Baby sister remember. Baby sister control.'

Her head was hurting so much. She just wanted to curl up and die. Anything would be better than this.

'Control.'

Marion shook her head.

'Control.'

"I can't!" she screamed. She didn't care if they found her. She didn't care if they killed her. If they killed her, then the feelings would go away. It wouldn't hurt anymore.

The voice in her head began to sing. 'Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own…' He couldn't remember the rest of the words, just the melody.

The world seemed to shift oddly before Marion's eyes. Colours morphed and changed, objects clouded and cleared again. Then she stood and brushed her clothes down.

Marion tossed her hair back, humming "humpty dumpty". The witch was back, and she meant war.

* * *

Parker stared at the redhead Brigitte look-alike. She turned to the Sweeper standing beside her, surveying the monitor with anger. "What she do?"

"Killed eight of our Sweepers."

Parker scoffed. "That pretty little thing?" she scorned.

"She ain't no Jenny from the block, that's for sure!"

Parker shook her head, disbelieving.

"Snapped the first one's neck, shot the other six with the gun from the first. The eighth got to her before she got another gun. Bit clean through his jugular. We had to tranq her. Four of my team are in the Renewal Wing because of her, and five others too. I should have just stuck a bullet in her head and finished it there."

Parker was feeling a little queasy now. "She really killed eight Sweepers?"

"She really did!" the Sweeper confirmed.

"How the Hell'd she get inside in the first place?"

"It seems she hacked the mainframe and overrode the gates without us knowing."

Ezra came bursting into the room. "The techies are going ballistic."

Parker rounded on her techie angrily. "Get! Out!"

"It's a virus, Miss Parker!"

"Then stop it!"

"I can't."

On the monitor, Marion turned to the screen and winked. A moment later the surveillance went blank, all of them. The PAs began to buzz. "BOO! The wicked witch is back. Quick, tie her down before she escapes with her magic flying ointment!" Parker jumped. The PAs cleared once more.

"What the Hell was that?"


End file.
